


Where the Art Resides

by vanilla_kate



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Kissing, Well not in chapter one but eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-05-06 06:27:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5406464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanilla_kate/pseuds/vanilla_kate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Marinette lies to Adrien about knowing how to play the piano, and only one famous black cat can help her out of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "...the pauses between the notes - ah, that is where the art resides.”  
> ― Artur Schnabel

The word _“maybe”_ will be the death of her. As soon as she says the last word, she feels the heat spreading across her face like a wildfire. Flames are crackling just under the surface of her skin, she’s sure of it.

Smokey the Bear always said “Only you can prevent wildfires,” but he failed to mention how difficult that was.

Especially for Marinette.

The blush, accompanied by the realization of what she’s just said, feels like palpable static stretching across her cheeks.  _Maybe?_ What had she been thinking? She’s practically radiating warmth from her face alone. She’s suddenly a sun burning in the middle of the classroom, too close for comfort.

_Dammit, Adrien, step back or you’re going to get sunburn._

She feels his eyes on her, obviously absorbing everything. She swallows hard and retraces her steps that ultimately led to her untimely demise. Her rules of the day were so mind-numbingly simple, so how could she have screwed things up so horribly?

**How to Have a Regular Marinette Dupain-Cheng Kind of Day:**

**Step One:** Wake up, brush your teeth, hair, etc. Tie hair back into two pigtails. Don’t forget your kwami. Be gentle, she’s small. Handle with care.

 **Step Two:** Begin your trek to school. Avoid eye contact with Chloe, but feel free to warmly smile at everyone else.

 **Step Three:** Greet Alya! She _is_ your best friend, you know. Bonus points if you give her a hug.

 **Step Four:** Take your seat in class. Behind Adrien. Casually.

 ***Optional Step Five:** Say something completely out of turn and dramatically crush your chances of any future success in the Adrien department. _(tip: stuttering is good for this step; say something along the lines of “I hike your lair,” instead of “I like your hair,” or better yet, say something in gibberish!)_

***this step may result in intense blushing**

Steps one through four usually resulted in a great day, but of course there were cases where she’d forgotten the rules and thrown in step five. What had she done today?

Ah, that’s right.

She had woken up, tied her hair back, and stowed Tikki away in her bag as usual. She had forged her way across town from the bakery to the school where she’d gone out of her way to steer clear of Chloe, not having the energy to battle her in a stare down. And she had been extremely casual in her positioning behind Adrien- perhaps a little too casual because before she could barely get out a hello to Alya, her very important final step, Adrien was the one throwing a wrench in her routine.

And he had done it so simply too. He had turned around in his seat, arm draped over the back of his chair, and he had asked, “Hey, Marinette! What’s up?”

_What’s up._

And he just kept on beaming, oblivious to the fact every hair on her scalp was standing on end. She locked eyes with Alya to her side and wondered if her friend could smell her apprehension. She gazed back down at Adrien. His voice was almost melodic in her head, repeating her name over and over again. He was all broken record with not a single scratch.

 

She sighed.

...and then realized he had asked her a question.

A question she had to answer. With her mouth. With words. With syllables.

No gibberish.

“Oh! Oh, what’s up? Nothing much! Nothing going on with me, I’m kind of a boring individual.” She grinned sheepishly until she realized exactly how that might sound. “Well, when I say _boring_ I don’t really mean _boring_ , you know? I just… I meant I don’t have anything going on at the moment. Uh, unless you count some doodles.”

Alya tried to take out a notebook to disguise her eavesdropping, her pencil working furiously across the page. Marinette glanced down and found her rewriting notes that she had already taken. Nino hadn’t arrived to class yet, either late or not at school that day.

Adrien seemed unfazed by her outburst, the corners of his lips never dropping. “Neat!”

 

 _Oh, man, did he just say “neat”? What a dork_ , Marinette thought, smiling just a little wider.

But Adrien didn’t turn back around. On the contrary, he had asked another question, making Marinette’s nerves strike up yet again like a harp that hadn’t been played in ages - out of tune and a little awkward.

 

“Yeah, I’ve noticed you draw a lot.” Adrien continued and Marinette noted the small crinkle of his nose when he smiled. “Do you do anything else?”

 

Her mind raced, trying to find something interesting other than “I save the city once in a while, no biggie. Oh, yeah, and I do it while dressed in red and black spandex,”.

She needed a connection to him. She needed to relate to him in some way.

“Well, I like to design things. Clothes. It’s just a lot of fun for me.” And without even thinking about the repercussions, she added, “And play piano-”

Alya snorted aggressively, her façade of disinterest completely gone. If at all possible, Adrien perked up even more. The arch in his back vanished. “Really? You know, I play piano-”

She panicked. She couldn’t help it. “Oh, yeah, I know! I mean, I’ve heard that somewhere before.”

“Maybe you could show me how you play sometime?”

_Oh no._

“Well, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Her words came out in a flash, tumbling over one another. Everything was way too rushed.

“Oh.” The arch was back. If she didn’t know any better, it almost looked like he was... disappointed? No, no, no, she could not let that opportunity escape her. She may have been painfully shy nearly every time they came into contact with one another, but Marinette was determination personified.

And she was determined to get closer to that boy.

“I only know a couple songs, but… maybe?”

Yes, _“maybe”_ was her death wish as soon as it crossed her lips. She didn’t know a single thing about any instrument, let alone the piano! She had toyed around with a recorder when she was small, a requirement for every child at that age, but it hadn’t been serious. It hadn’t been _learn-how-to-correctly-read-sheet-music_ serious!

Her heart flutters in her chest almost a little too violently. Adrien winks at her, making it even worse. She wonders how old you have to be to die of cardiac arrest.

 

“Neat!” he grins again. “How about next Monday?”

She fumbles. Monday is way too early to figure out a solution. “Uh, well, I have a… thing Monday.”

“No problem. Do you have a day you aren’t busy?”

Here is Adrien Agreste asking her if she can schedule a time for him. Never did she think she’d live to see the day. “I’m free on the second,”

“That’s about three weeks away,” he whistles. “Your thing must keep you really busy. Okay, the second it is.”

Before Alya can put her hand on her shoulder, the joy passing through the two of them like electricity; before Nino can come stumbling into the classroom, excuses for being almost tardy ready; before Adrien can completely settle back in his chair, his back to her now; before their teacher can come traipsing into the room, workbook close at hand; before Kim starts up on a rant about how ridiculous their homework was the night before… Marinette feels like she’s going to sing and barf at the same time.

Not the best combination.

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t hear her sneak up on him. Shouldn’t his senses be heightened when he’s Chat?

Of course, some explanation is in order.

She doesn’t sneak up on him literally, but she does it metaphysically - in the way she moves, the way her voice sounds when he wakes her when she’s just on the verge of sleep, the stars in her eyes when she talks about Ladaveigne and Chaunbre and Tolmick, all supposed designers she favors. She had snuck up on him and it had been a vicious attack. Her smile lingered in his thoughts more often than not and when at home, he found himself twisting at the ends of his hair when concentrating, something she did quite often.

A brutal attack, indeed. He had scars from her.

The heavy awareness hasn’t landed on his shoulders yet. He knows somewhere in the back of his mind, though, locked away behind a door that needs a good paint job, that one day he’ll have to address whatever it is she is to him.

But in this moment, it doesn’t need a label, which is a huge relief to Chat. Immense, even. _She_ doesn’t need a label. They are nameless and mysterious and comfortable all at once.

He perches outside her window, the one just on the other side of her desk. Marinette isn’t expecting it, leaping up from her chair in a flash of green and blue. Once her eyes adjust to who’s sitting there, her gaze relaxes to a calm expression… and then relaxes even more to one of annoyance. Standing steady now, she places her hands on her hips.

He taps on the glass with his knuckles, smirking.

She shakes her head and smiles a smile that asks _what am I going to do with you?_ She steps around the desk to inch the window open just the slightest bit. “Unless you’re selling cookies, I’d advise you to leave.”

“You live above a _bakery_.”

She hesitates. “Touché.”

And her fingers are curling under the window even more, pulling it up roughly to allow him access inside. He doesn’t enter completely, only dangles his legs inside. He breathes in the sight of her - a whirlwind of seafoam and cerulean. She looks as though an ocean has just swallowed her whole, and she’s eagerly succumbed to the waves. A long sleeved blue shirt the same color as the sky and shorts that look as though they were stolen from the Pacific waters itself drape over her.

He glances down at her feet.

One purple sock says _vendredi_ in orange cursive, the other plain black.

“Take no offense, Princess, but don’t you want to work in the fashion industry?” He grins wide, gesturing toward her feet.

“I didn’t know I’d be entertaining company.” She says promptly.

A bolt of lightning stabs both of them in the back. They are standing _so close_ together, what with Marinette’s thighs brushing up against Chat’s shins. She backs away almost by instinct, turning her head back toward the desk to hide the blush that has no business residing on her cheeks.

“Don’t mind me, please continue what you were doing.”

She exaggerates an eye roll. “You’re the hardest person to ignore, Chat Noir.”

Marinette sits back down at the desk, folding her feet under her on the chair. She picks up a pencil, tucking it behind her ear along with a stray strand of hair. It isn’t until she does this that Chat notices her hair is down, thick strands of waves framing her face.

_God, she really is the ocean tonight._

__

“What do you need?” She interrupts his thoughts.

“What? I just wanted to visit my favorite Parisian. It’s a little lonely out there tonight.”  

“I just… I need to finish this project, okay? There’s this contest and it’s kind of important so please don’t be too...” she cuts short and waves her hand at him, a concerned look donning her face.

Chat leans back, almost losing his balance. He expresses mock surprise, his hand at his chest. “Princess, I would _never!”_

She gives him another warning look and turns back to a sketchbook on the opposite side of her. Chat leans forward, trying to see around her, trying to see what she’s working on. After she either doesn’t see him or ignores him, he slips down from the window pane and maneuvers around her, standing on the other side of her chair.

She rushes to cover the drawings quickly, but then Chat’s fingers are on her wrist. She looks up at him. She’s silent, but her eyes are loud and clear.

_It’s not done, don’t look at it._

His hands are gentle. He caresses the back of her hand and pulls it up and away from the page.

_Please, Princess?_

She sighs and lifts the other hand. Several sketches of gowns with slightly different characteristics litter the page - broad necklines, ruffled sleeves, deep backs, bows and flowers and patterns… In the margins are small scribbled notes on what types of fabric to use. There are measurements of busts and hips and arm lengths. She even accounts for extra fabric that could be lost in mistakes.

Chat’s grin eclipses half of his face. “Marinette, these are _great._ ”

“Oh, stop. You don’t need to sweet talk me, kitty. They’re so _rough._ And I don’t know which one I want to do. Do I combine the robe à polonaise with a scoop neck or would that defy the time period? Or do I even want to stay true to the time period? Should I mix different trends from different eras? Should I tie a white or gray ribbon around the robe à l’anglaise? I mean, I need my color scheme to be consistent...”

She makes an animated gesture toward the page, her eyes wide, and then glances up to the ceiling as though her answers will be written there in ink. She makes a few small squeaking noises of varying octaves, her arms extended. She concludes with a shoulder shrug and an exhausted sigh, her face collapsing onto the desk in defeat.

Chat laughs loud and rich. His voice is warm when he says, “You act like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

She groans from the desk, her head never leaving it. “I _don’t_ know what I’m doing, Chat. This contest ends in a week and I just want to get my ideas out there except for the fact I have no ideas.”

“Then what do you call this?”

She sits up finally, and sticks her tongue out, pointing to the back of her throat. She makes a gagging noise.

“You’re too hard on yourself, Princess.” He sets the drawing back down, drawing his lips close to her ear. He creases himself in half since she’s still sitting, and his body nearly encases her. He releases the pencil from her ear and the short waves of hair loosen and fall back to her face.

 

There it is again. The wildfire.

 

There’s a conflagration on the other side of her collarbone and she doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not. What is this? She’s never seized up around Chat when she was Ladybug.

He puts the pencil on top of the paper. He says, “Try again,” and his cheek is so close to hers that she can feel his body heat. She wants to wrap herself up inside of it, folding over into his warmth a million times until she’s going, going, gone - lost forever inside a red void.

What is getting into her? The only person she’s ever fumbled around is Adrien. Maybe it was just the leftover emotions from the day coursing through her veins at an extremely inappropriate time. Yes, that had to be it. She’s still dizzy from talking to Adrien for so long.

She quickly draws away from him, snatching up the pencil and sketchpad. She _needs_ to get away from his heat. “Great idea! I’ll get right on that!”

She was being ridiculous. It was only Chat. Why were all these boys swimming around in her head, toying with her recently? Why were they messing so many things up? She finds her way to her bed and sits, placing the drawings of the dresses behind her. Her fingers twirl at the ends of her hair and Chat instantly recognizes this.

“What are you thinking about?” He mews, stalking toward her. “Is it me? Really, Marinette, if it’s me you can just sa-”

“I need a piano.”

Her interruption is short. Her hands freeze on her hair and they lock eyes.

“Wait, what?” he asks.

She sighs. “I… I keep messing things up, Chat. If he wouldn’t have just asked me what was happening with my day then none of this would’ve happened and I wouldn’t be stressing about two deadlines instead of one.”

He casually, cautiously leans in her direction, unsure if he should push for further information, but decides to anyway. “You need… a piano?”

“Well… I need to learn how to _play_ one.”

“But don’t you-?” he stops.

_“But don’t you already know how?”_ would be an Adrien question. The realization washes over him heavily - no, she doesn’t already know how. Did Marinette really lie to his face? The first time they have a seemingly normal conversation and she fibs?

He can’t ask her about the lie or she would connect the two without a doubt. He needs to be clever about his next move.

“What for?”

“I may have told someone I knew how and… now they want me to play for them?” She tries at a meek smile, but it comes off weak and ill-fitted, like a shoe that’s two sizes too small. “I just… I don’t know why I did it, don’t ask me-”

 _I wasn’t going to,_ he thinks.

“-but there’s no turning back now. I don’t know why I’m telling you. Maybe you know someone that could help me?” Marinette tries. She groans again and falls back on the bed, plastering her fingers across her face. “I am such an idiot.”

He knits his brow. Was this to impress him as Adrien? He shakes his head at his own thought. Marinette isn’t like that.

“Well, Princess, it just so happens you’re in luck.” He beams, laying back on the bed beside her.

She peeks through two fingers in a sideways gaze. “Really?”

He smiles, nods once. “Your very own Chat Noir may just have some musical talent of his own.”

She’s on her side now, facing him with her fingers curled back into her palms. He can help her. Granted, it could all be a joke and he could actually be a horrible musician, but what has she got to lose? She’s already in too deep, drowning in whatever trouble she’s in.

The hope sparks up in her eyes. “Swear you mean it, Chat.”

He turns on his side to mirror her. “I swear on all nine of my lives, _ma chérie._ ”

And before she can stop herself, she’s smiling wider than she ever has before. She isn’t going to look like a fool in front of Adrien! This stupid cat might have just saved her life. She’s _this close_ to throwing her arms around his shoulders and hugging him. Energy is zapping through her. She couldn’t die from a fire or a heart attack - she was suddenly invincible and every part of her body is awake and ready to learn.

She moves like a tidal wave and her eyes look like she’s just been struck by lightning and Chat understands instantly why salt water is a wonderful conductor of electricity.

Her bounces of excitement are cut short when they hear an all too familiar beep.

Chat looks up at her, smiling his signature smile, and stands. “I’ll see you later, Princess.”

Her fingers unfurl from her tight grip as she also rises. She looks at him deeply. Why doesn’t she want him to leave all of a sudden?

She forcefully swallows the lump in her throat. It makes her mouth ache.

“Right, right, of course. And I’ll just get… get back to, um-” she points to the desk, her words failing her for umpteenth time.

“Your dresses?” he offers. Is is just her or had he inched closer?

“Yeah, those.” She swallows again, but the strange tingling in her mouth doesn’t stop. Instead it intensifies, vibrating through her lips and across her tongue.

She’s afraid. She’s afraid of this and of him and of wanting him to touch her mouth. How can she be so worked up about not humiliating herself in front of Adrien and still have Chat’s name on the end of her tongue? Through the open window, she catches the scent of honey and something warm.

“I would stay a little longer,” he starts, uncommonly serious. Chat leans forward, rolling the ends of her hair between his fingers. After what feels like hours, but was probably only seconds, he stops and looks her right in the eye, cracking yet another grin. “but I’m not _feline up to it._ ”

She wants to hit him for than pun.

In the mouth.

With her mouth.

He’s too close, too close, too close. All the colors of her room bleed together and she realizes she’s not in her room at all, but lounging on the bench in that one painting she had seen by Edouard Manet. Her lips are fuschia, begging to be touched, and her skin is open for it anywhere. Chat is cream-colored at the seams, bursting with periwinkle and chartreuse. Since when had they stepped back into a painting?

She wants to step back, to say “No, no, you’re my partner and I love Adrien,” only it comes out “Chat.”

A single word.

She knows he can feel it too: a danger sign, highlighted and underlined and boldfaced. Arrows point to it. Lights blink around it. She needs to stop, she has to stop soon. She’s going to ignore the sign, though, going to drive over a cliff and her bones won’t be discovered for months. She’s going to kill herself with this boy and she knows it.

The honey and warmth aren’t on the street anymore. They’re mixed up inside Chat’s mouth, just beyond his teeth.

“Yes, Princess?”

She can’t even remember what she was going to say. His lips are swirling, moving as though he’s being painted right this second by an invisible paintbrush. She imagines him breathing everything he has into her and her knees feel weak. She's got Jell-o for joints.

She wants him to leave. She wants him to stay.

“I… I’m just…” She’s struggling again, an entire dictionary lodged in her windpipe. She thinks that maybe if he kisses her throat, he’ll free every word she’s ever learned.

When had they gotten so close? Her thighs are touching him again and his fingers trace fine ringlets on her cheek.

“I’m just excited… to learn the piano.”

He smiles, realizing their moment is over. “I’m happy to teach you.”

Another beep.

“You should probably-”

“Yes, yes, of course. Goodnight, princess.” He steps back quickly, rubbing the back of his neck as though he’s just been burned.

Did she do that?

He slips back out the window but not before winking back at her over his shoulder. He’s gone and he’s left mound after mound of rubble in his wake. She feels as though she’s in ruins.

Once he’s gone, she exhales a breath she doesn’t realize she’s been holding.

“My, that was certainly… something.” Tikki’s small voice comes from beneath her pillow. She floats out. “It was definitely hot under there but you seem to look a little warmer than I do.”

Tikki doesn’t know she’s both wrong and right. All at once, Marinette finally understands how chaotic wildfires can be. She had just witnessed one engulf her room, catch her clothing on fire, ignite her whole body. She was drowning in flames.

And yet she is frozen to the spot. A chill runs down her spine.

  
“He’s only my partner. And I’ve got a dress to work on.” Her outward attitude shifts dramatically as she sweeps up the sketches. She glances back at Tikki. “I’m suddenly inspired.”


	2. Chapter 2

He wakes up expecting to see a normal sky - one with blue edges and puffs of white clouds, greying at the ends like aged hair, but instead all he can see is the sun. Adrien wakes up, peeking out the window and drawing a hand over his brow to shield his eyes, but by then it’s too late.

The sun is taking up the entire sky, he thinks, finally lowering his hand.

It is large and drawn out like a single, thin, sweeping brushstroke, nothing like the crude yellow circles colored on a child’s sketchbook page. There isn’t a single speck of blue to be seen, only shades of red and pink and orange and yellow and purple that Adrien hadn’t even known existed. She is rising over the hills, an entire army of colors behind her now, marching to a steady staccato tempo. She is-

“You know what people say about looking at the sun for too long,” Plagg’s voice is deep, groggy from the night’s rest.

Adrien smiles; turns around. His hair is wild, a chaotic whirlwind of golden sunshine tangled on his scalp. “Do tell.”

“Eh… something about going blind… or was it death?” He glides across the room lazily toward the window. “One of those two.”

“You’ve been around for a while, huh?” Adrien breaks after a moment.

Plagg only nods once, mildly put-off by the randomness of the question.

“Do you think it’s possible to see new colors?” Adrien turns back to window where the sky has slightly shifted since Plagg’s interruption. He can see the red and orange reflections from the glass plaster his face; feels the paint dribble down his neck and onto his floorboards, and he can’t help but look down and think that no matter how astounding those hues were on his floor, his father would still only see it as a stain.

Plagg lets out a mixture between a mew and a laugh. “You’re being too romantic. Get dressed or you’ll be late.”

 

* * *

 

He’s all too happy to slip into class in front of Marinette that morning, though he doesn’t exactly know why. She did lie to him after all, which seemed ridiculously out of character. Maybe she only meant she needed to practice her piano skills before she showed him?

The teacher is earlier than normal, setting down stack after stack of papers on the large desk. Nino is late yet again.

Maybe she meant to say something else but she accidentally said “piano”?

Alya and Marinette are walking in the classroom, laughing wholehearted about something. Adrien sneaks a glance toward her, and Marinette is laughing so hard, she’s grabbing at her stomach. It’s not a giggle - no, not by a long shot - this is a full fledged laugh. And Alya is putting her hand on Marinette’s as they take their seats. Adrien turns back around, his smile carving into his lips quickly. Their laughter was outrageously contagious.

Alya struggles through gasps of air and choked cackles, trying to finish her story.

“And- And I told her that I had to go, you know? I mean, I had to be back home by midnight, so- s-so here I am with like five loaves of bread and this tutu that’s way too small-”

The mention of the tutu reignites Marinette’s furious giggling. She squeezes her eyes shut, cupping her hands over her mouth to suppress the noise.

“And I had probably a dozen geese trailing behind me!” Alya finishes, trailing off into her own fit of laughter.

 

And then Marinette is snorting.

 

Adrien feels his ears sizzle nice and hot. He turns around almost immediately, his arm slinging over the back of his chair again. As soon as his eyes meet Marinette’s, they widen and her skin blushes to match the same color as lava.

She doesn’t even attempt to stutter out an apology or explanation, only sits there, face flushed and fingers dancing lightly on the edge of her lips.

He smiles, breathing her in. God, she was so refreshing, and all he could do was make her uncomfortable.

He doesn’t comment on the snort. Instead he gives a small laugh and turns back around, giving her a thumbs-up. He hopes it tells her,  _ it’s okay! Your snort was cute! Don’t sweat it! _

But that whole uncomfortable thing would never do. She was so fierce and free around Chat. That Marinette was so real, so genuine and wonderful; and when Adrien showed up, she would just bury herself. He hates that he does that to her. He hates it.

And he finds himself wanting to show Adrien more than Chat. Chat was amazingly confident because of that mask, but Adrien…? He’s distracted for nearly the entire period, trying to think of ways to show Marinette he wouldn’t bite as Adrien.

 

...and what the hell Alya did at the beginning of her story to wind up in a too-small tutu with five loaves of bread and a band of geese.

 

He likes the fact he may never know the answer.

 

* * *

 

“My, you’re looking as breathtaking as ever,” Chat’s voice is in the room before his body. Marinette jumps from her bed, her sketches spilling everywhere. His ankles are hooked around the edge of her open hatch to her balcony. He swings in upside-down, hair spilling over his face like liquid gold, and puts a hand on either side of his hips. Marinette knits her brows together, pushing his shoulder. He falls in a jumbled mess, his back against her wall and his eyes staring back at her from the ground.

He grins. “Now is that anyway to greet your best friend?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I never greet Alya like that.”

“ _Me-ouch_ , Princess. You wound me.” He jumps onto his feet, propelling himself toward her, and grabs her hands. “Ready to go?”

Surprise flashes through her eyes. “Go? Go where?”

“Your music lessons,  _ mon amie _ ,” he puffs his chest forward.

“Chat, wait!” Marinette shrieks, drawing her hand away. “First off, I can’t go anywhere, cat. I’ve got a lot of homework.”

He leans forward, risking a nose rub. “Oh, it can’t be that much,” he says, knowing very well how much they had to do for the night.

Marinette shoots back just before his nose can touch hers as though she could sense the static electricity in the air. “It’s… enough.”

“How much?”

“A lot. Like… a _butt-ton_.”

Chat laughs. “My, that is a lot.”

Against her better judgment, Marinette finds a smile developing. 

She sighs. “Let me grab some shoes.”

 

* * *

 

“Chat!” Her voice has a strong tension in it like steel. The hallway is dark, too dark to even catch the hint of a silhouette. She doesn’t like this. There’s something strangely claustrophobic about the blackness in the music store, something stemming from her childhood fear most likely. The quietness of the building settles deep in her body, nestling into every pore of her. It’s so silent, she thinks the weight of it will press down on her and make every bone in her body crack, like the water pressure in the ocean.

Every time she thinks of music shops, she imagines warm smiles exchanged on lips and guitars exchanged between hands. She thinks of those notes on those lines that always looked nice and intricate, but never exactly meant anything to her. She thinks of plump women with red hair banging tambourines on their hips and thin college boys purchasing their first ukulele or drum set. She pictures old men with fraying beards _finally, finally, finally_ getting that saxophone they always wanted; or that little girl with corkscrew curls standing on her tiptoes to look at the harmonicas.

She does not picture a suffocating hallway with more doors than necessary closing in on her. She doesn’t imagine Chat abandoning her - granted, she doesn’t imagine Chat being with her in the _first place,_ but given the circumstances…

The only hint that the shop specializes in music at all is the black notes decorating the blue walls.  She laughs nervously, swallowing the confusion and paranoia. Was this a joke? She was Ladybug, for crying out loud! Defender of Paris! Savior of the young and old alike! She shouldn’t be afraid of the dark.

And yet she finds her ears emphasizing every hush of the wind outside; every twig snap; every low chuckle-

 

_ Wait. _

 

“Ch-Chat?” She calls, and she hates how small she sounds. No wonder Adrien thinks she’s so silly. “Chat, if this is some sort of prank-”

“Fear not, Marinette,” comes his voice after an eternity of silence. He drops down behind her and she screeches.

“Honestly, you crazy cat, I wish you’d stop sneaking up on me! It’s rude!” She turns and locks eyes with him. She’s upset, yes, but Smokey the Bear’s warning is out the window yet again when the flames lick her cheeks. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s the only one with her in the isolated music store, but she finds herself circling closer to him.

He laughs and holds up a pair of keys. “I can only get us so far,”

She expects her pulse to settle, but it beats on, steady and strong. Her mouth feels dry, but she still nods and says, “Okay.”

He wraps his fingers around two of hers, leads her into the darkness of the hallway, and up a winding set of stairs, the trail of notes decreasing in size, and multiplying in numbers. Marinette counts the number of times she sees the one that looks like the letter _d_ , keeping her hands from burning under Chat’s grasp.

She gets to twenty-three when he reaches the door at the top of the stairs. When he unlocks it, everything finally makes sense - the room is packed nearly floor to ceiling with instruments. If the room hadn’t been so dark, Marinette’s eyes would’ve been littered with stars. Hell, it was nearly pitch black and they were still shining bright just beyond her pupils. 

“There… There are so many of them,” she breathes out, suddenly fueled by the idea of learning something new. God, there had to be _dozens_ of instruments crowded in there.

The jingling of the keys brings her attention back. She locks eyes with Chat and her fingers itch to touch his chest, of all places. She really needs to talk to someone about this, but who would ever listen to her?

“The piano is in the far corner, Princess.” Chat leans through the doorway and points in its direction.

Marinette makes no effort to move, still concentrating on the way each muscle moves under his suit. Did he have any tan lines from wearing it often? She wonders what color his skin is just beyond that neckline and feels her stomach ache with something primal. She almost giggles at the idea, but stops herself short, remembering who she’s with.

Right - who she’s with, which is Chat Noir. Who is teaching her to play piano so she can impress the boy she loves - whom is not Chat.

 

_ Screw your damn head on right, Mari! You do not like Chat, you like Adrien. Stop confusing the two. _

 

But Chat seems to have noticed her reluctance to move away from him, and he’s smiling, curling an arm over her shoulder blades, leading her into the dark room. “You know, you have to go into the room to get to the piano,”

Marinette shakes her head, tossing away any lingering thoughts of Chat’s chest. “Right, yes, I know that.” And she feverishly walks to the piano, sitting down.

After a minute, she looks over shoulder at the stupid black cat behind her, waving him over. “Come on, then. Are you turning on the light or…?”

“Well, actually,” he grunts, settling onto the bench beside her, “We aren’t supposed to be here, obviously, so if I turned on a light…”

She nods. “Got it.”

“But there’s enough light from the streetlights to work by,” And then he’s smirking, leaning toward her. “It creates a wonderful ambiance as well.”

Under normal circumstances, Marinette might laugh or push him away, but right this second, she’s feeling like jumping off a bridge and never looking at Chat again. Her heart rate quickens, thudding in her ears because Jesus, his lips are so ridiculously close to hers. A blush crackles across her cheeks; she turns away to hide it from what little lighting they had.

“Wha-What do I need to know first, Chat?” Her fingers tick against her pant leg restlessly.

And if Chat didn’t know any better, he’d think she almost sounded nervous. He smiled to himself, and splayed his arms out to direct her attention to the keys. “Well, first thing’s first: you need to be able to tell the difference between white and black. You’re not colorblind, are you, Princess? Actually, I don’t think that’s how colorblindness works…”

He paused, emerald eyes flickering over her lips. Why was he doing that?

 

“Do you consider white a color? Or black?” Did he just lick his own lips? _Jesus, Adrien, focus_. This stupid suit was playing tricks on his head. “Ahem. Alright, scrap everything I just said. First, you need to learn to read music.”

In a bit of a fluster, Chat stood, nearly losing his balance and collapsing into the unused lamp by the piano. Every inch of his skin seemed to be aware of where he was, what he was doing. There was an anxiety sitting in the back of his throat, choking him; a foreign anticipation cutting off his air supply, coiling tighter, tighter, _tighter-_

“Chat?”

He spun around, suddenly realizing how far away he’d gotten from her. What did he stand to get again?

“Chat, are you okay? You’re mumbling.”

He shook his head, trying in a futile attempt to shake all the jitters from his head, but they only relocated to the tip of his tongue. A thousand “ _what if_ ”s sat sweetly on the edge of his mouth, just between his teeth.

What if he didn’t really love Ladybug? What if that was all hormones and infatuation? And, God, why had he just now wondered this?

He grabbed the blue paperback from the shelf, stalking back toward Marinette, his breath hitching in his throat.

“I’m _purr-fect_ , darling,” he hummed out, but his heart wasn’t entirely in it. “Now, let’s get to it! This kid is going to be blown away!”

Marinette’s shoulders rose, brushing her cheeks as she tucked herself further insider her own body.

 

_ What if she’s doing this to impress me? What if she likes me? _

 

No, no, no, no - if she in fact did like Adrien Agreste, she was only liking the strange, public part of him. The inherent downside to being a model was the constant dragging expectation to look and act and be wonderful- astounding- breathtaking-

But Adrien was tired of taking people’s breath away. He wanted his own stolen.

_ Stop. _

You are Chat right now and you need to act like it.

Something foreign in him takes over and he thanks God a million times over for it. He opens the book to the third page, leafing past all the introductions, and sets it before them on the piano. He steadies his hands on Marinette’s, hoping she doesn’t feel the surge of blood pumping through his veins at such an alarming rate.

_ You know, if you don’t think about it hard enough, she sort of does resemble Ladybug… She probably stole that hairstyle from her even. _

_Phew!_ That’s all it was! He must’ve been subconsciously linking Marinette to Ladybug!

 

They stay like that for quite some time, his hands guiding hers to select different keys. The tension seems to ease up relatively soon and he’s babbling on about augmented and diminished notes, sharps and flats, major and minor scales and how Fanny Mendelssohn was completely underrated because her brother Felix was a popular composer, _ugh, can you believe that?_

“Alright, I need you to press down this finger- no, no, this one. That’s right. and this one, and… there! That’s a G flat minor, and it is your last chord. And congratulations, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, you have officially learned every chord! Now that you know that, we can focus on remembering them and reading music.”

Maybe it’s the fact he’s in the suit, but he swears he can hear Marinette swallow roughly. “Mhm, okay.”

“And relax your elbows, darling, I’m not going to pounce on you.”

Involuntarily, they both go rigid at the thought. The sentence hangs there, suspended in the air like dust. A minuscule panic seizes him then because _dammit, Adrien, it doesn’t matter what form you take, you always make her feel uncomfortable._

But then, a ringing from the piano brings Chat’s attention back. Her muscles have loosened and she stares up at him doe-eyed.

“Yeah, no, hey- That was- yeah, good job, Mari!” He laughs, shaking the nerves away. Why was he overthinking so many things? He had known this girl for years now and had even worked with her on a school project in the past - despite the fact they had done most of their work separate from one another. It wasn’t like this had been the first time they’d engaged conversation with him at Chat either.

 

But this setting seemed so much more intimate. Had they ever been in such close proximity? Had he ever seen her in this sort of light before?

 

“-but the book says these three? What’s the difference between the black keys and the white ones?”

_ What was happening to him? _

“Alright, I think I get it. These ones sound lower. Is there a special musical term for that?”

_ Oh, God, he was going to puke. He was literally going to puke. _

“Chat? Chat Noooir? Jeez, you’re not a very good teacher, are you?”

_ Maybe he had been imagining her nervousness. It seems to have vanished, but why? _

“Are you alright? Really, you’ve been acting sort of strange. Are you sick?”

_ He needs a trash can or restroom or something because he definitely feels something flipping in his stomach like a flapjack. _

“I could take you back to my house, make you some chicken noodle soup. Cats like bird, right?”

_ He swears her laugh is the sweetest-sounding thing he’s ever heard, like liquid honey spilling from her mouth to his ears. God, she is so beautiful, and if he didn’t feel like vomiting up a lung right now, he would probably do something irrational like- _

“You’re seriously worrying me. Come on, let’s go home, you’re so pale.”

And he is _the most_ irrational being in the _entire universe_. If she is a mathematician, he is the square root of two; he is pi personified. If she’s the patient, he is 100 percent that doctor visit that she’s anxious to schedule because he is so damn irrational, so anxiety-inducing, so confused and helpless and and _and_

 

And he kisses her.

 

He kisses her because he needs to shut himself up even though he hasn’t said a damn word in well over five minutes. He kisses her because he’s scared if he opens his mouth, his entire lunch will fall out onto the floor. He kisses her because it’s the right thing to do and he’s selfish and indulgent and impulsive, especially when in that cat suit.

And he kisses her because he wants to.

He feels her body tense up against his lips, until she makes a noise from deep down in her throat, and suddenly she’s leaning toward him, cupping his face in her soft, small hands. A wave of static shock echos through his bones as he pushes just a little further. 

God, he is _so_ hers in that moment. He wants all of her jokes and her stumbles and fiery debates and soft giggles. He melts into her like putty and all he can think about is how she smells like bread and tastes like heaven. Does a person have a taste? Because Marinette does, and if the former isn’t true, then she’s probably some other-worldly being.

Whereas every part of him was completely aware of his surroundings earlier, he’s totally blind now. She is so distracting and he is on fire.

 

Inevitably, he pulls away from her, digging up a small shard of self control. He wants to whisper her name over and over again, his lips dancing at the edge of hers, but on the other hand, he wants to write her name with his tongue on hers. How was this happening?

He had just kissed Marinette full force.

Oh, shit, he had just _kissed Marinette full force_ and she’s probably cringing at his total lack of consideration and chivalry.

“Marinette,” he stutters. “I… I am-”

But she’s shaking her head rapidly, trying to shush him. She tries on a smile, but it looks too awkward sitting on her lips like that. He finds himself wanting to kiss it away. “No, Chat, it’s alright. That was… okay.”

He wants to apologize but he also wants to lay with her in that music shop for the rest of the night, counting all her freckles aloud. He wants to connect the dots, etching constellation after constellation onto her skin.  Instead, he leaps up, trying to regain his composure. She follows his lead, adding, “It looks pretty late. I should really get home.”

“Of course! Of course, yes, I’ll just put these keys away and take you right home.”

He turns, leaving her alone in the room to process her thoughts. He slips through the loose ceiling tile easily, hanging the keys back where he found them in the manager’s office.

But he takes a moment to steady himself against the desk, his heart a rapid staccato pumping in his chest. His body feels like a tango - **1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 1, 2 ; 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 1, 2** \- and his mind can’t catch up.

If he was a pianist, what was Marinette?

The piano?

The song?

 

* * *

 

He swings them back to the bakery in a bit of a mess - he falls on four rooftops and almost smashes Marinette into a chimney. It seems like God thought it would be funny to take his “powers of bad luck” seriously.

Finally, _finally,_ he propels the two of them across the gap between the houses, setting Marinette down on her balcony.  He acts casual, purring, “It was a very illuminating night tonight, Princess. I’ll check up on you later.”

He turns to leave, thoroughly embarrassed, when her hand touches his shoulder in the most tender way possible. “Chat-”

“No, you don’t need to correct me, Mari. That wasn’t right for-”

“Chat, it’s okay. It was okay.”

He turns to her at last and there’s something about her in the dark lighting that gives him vertigo. They’re painted several shades of amethyst and orchid and royal blue. It’s all too artistic for him and he wonders if this is how Van Gogh saw the world his entire life - saw the world as Adrien saw Marinette.

He cracks a smile. “Just okay? Well, I can assure you, if you give me another chance, I can do better than just okay.”

She pulls her hand away and fiddles with her cuffed sleeves, glancing anywhere but at him. “You know what I mean, you stupid cat.”

He lowers his face to meet her eyes, catches her chin with his fingers. “I know.”

He kisses her cheek because it seems rude and bitter to leave without something. What is this though? It’s certainly not closure.

 

And he doesn’t think about her that night at all. He doesn’t think about how if she could’ve just leaned a little more forward, she would’ve fit in his body _so perfectly_. He doesn’t think about how there were stars on the other side of her irises, how she probably had a whole galaxy inside of her and he was dying to see more of it. He didn’t think about how closely she resembled a supernova, all color and explosive fire and carbon and how he was the sun compared to her since statistics state the death of a star would radiate more energy than a sun would in its entire lifetime. 

He doesn’t think about her hair or her teeth or her inexplicable ability to sympathize with others or the way she snorted when she laughed too hard or stuck her tongue between her teeth when she giggled or twirled her hair when she thought or how many blisters she had on her palms. He doesn't think about how he could never be as innovative or creative as her if he actually _did_ have nine lives to try to.

No, sir, he does not think about any of that.

And he most certainly doesn't fall asleep with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no see!  
> Sorry it's been a little while, but I hope you guys liked it. I've sort of been in a creative slump lately and I'm trying to power through it so bare with me. I switched between Adrien's POV, Marinette's, and then back to Adrien's. It was a nice change, but I think I prefer Marinette's.  
> What do you guys like?  
> Thank you so much!


	3. Chapter 3

“I just want to ask him to do something, you know?” Marinette whispers to her bag, tracing the outline of the DVD case. Blood spatters and severed arms litter the front cover, but all she can do is laugh, especially when she envisions Chat’s response to watching something so ridiculous.

Tikki giggles from the recesses of her bag. “I think it’s cute you want to be his friend! Just be careful, alright?”

Marinette glances down at her Akuma, waving her hand dismissively. 

“Please, Tikki,” she scoffs. “I’m nothing if not careful.”

Tikki gives her the straightest of faces and Marinette breaks. “Okay, okay, so I’m not the most graceful of people, but I’m not going to screw this up! I can handle this!”

A tall man with graying hair passes her quickly, giving her several sideways glances, and hurries faster down the sidewalk.

“You might want to stop talking to your bag, Marinette,” Tikki whispers. “You look like a lune.”

“What else is new?” Marinette laughs, pushing the DVD into her bag next to Tikki.

She barely makes it through the door of the bakery, bursting with a newfound excitement, before there’s a loud crash thundering across the city. The blast vibrates along the floor of the shop, and she rushes to a nearby window only to see bits of cement and debris flying into the air at all angles in the distance.

* * *

“On your right!” She yells, but Chat is far too focused on trying not to trip over his own two feet - paws? - to even register her words. Before he’s even catching one ankle over the other, tripping and cascading over the edge of the bridge, Ladybug is sprinting toward him, her hands in a vice-like grip. She can’t help but silently chant to herself, _“Cats always land on their feet. Cats always land on their feet…”_

Chat lets out a strangled noise, something from the back of his throat, clawing at the layers of metal to keep him from crashing into the water below. His arm nearly bursts free from its socket, but he hooks his elbow around the curvature of the steel, hauling himself up onto the rod just beneath the level for pedestrians. 

And _thank God!_ Ladybug almost cries out of sheer relief when she sees him pull himself up to safety. The cat had always taken a horrible battering during their battles, but she can hardly think about the way his muscles involuntarily stretched out to reach the edge of the bridge. 

She wants to puke.

But then, of course, she remembers she’s Ladybug, defender of Paris, and superheroes do not throw up under any circumstances.

At least not in public.

 

She opens her mouth to call out to Chat, but instantly she’s struck from behind, and her vision blurs and she surges forward from the impact. A crushing pain emanates from her pelvic area as the bone grinds against the steel of the bridge.

Thank God the pedestrians grew frightened and retreated long ago. She’d rather take the brunt of the Akuma’s anger than any innocent Parisian. How could she forgive herself if she let something like that happen?

“Ladybug!” she hears Chat yell, but there are stars dancing in her eyes, masking any sort of activity happening around her. She collapses to the pavement as a woosh of air speeds past her, clattering to the ground somewhere in front of her.

God, how hard was she hit?

“Chat,” she croaks out, realizing after the fact her voice is far too small to be heard over the commotion. “Chat, be careful-”

The spots swim away from her vision in time for her to witness a large statue-like man slam a fist in Chat’s direction. Her muscles freeze before Chat leaps out of the way, avoiding the punch. And as quickly as he appears, the cat vanishes, weaving amongst the pillars and beams of the bridge in an effort to confuse his attacker.

Ladybug shakes her head as if that would make her memories return. Who was this Akuma again?

“You can hide from me, Chat Noir!” The Akuma belts, “But you can’t hide from the truth!”

_ Right! That’s it! _ Ladybug struggles to stand, her legs resembling jelly all of a sudden, and her hip bone not in any better condition.  _ He’s based on Sancus! _

 

_ So how to defeat an Akuma based entirely on honesty? _

 

“Lady!” she hears, knowing the voice belongs to her partner. Her eyes dance along the beams above her, searching for the cat, but he’s a skilled hider. “The Akuma is in his necklace! The sapphire!”

She locks eyes with Sancus immediately, registering every inch of him, from the crumbling, cracked marble skin, down to the chiseled curls on his scalp. It’s as if he were just settled in a museum moments ago, and now here he is, living and breathing and… and headed right for Ladybug’s face with his giant, stoney hands.

She ducks out of his path and hauls herself up to the same level as Chat, hiding among the curvature of the bridge’s overpass. Sancus screams in a rage below and Ladybug tries to steady herself on the steel, her pelvis still screaming in irritation. It can’t be broken, can it?

A hand connects with her shoulder, and Ladybug is ready to whip around, fist already closed up tightly for a punch, but it’s only Chat, holding up his hands in a surrender. 

“Woah, woah! It’s only me, my Lady!” he whispers.

“I’m sorry,” she lowers the fist, resting it against her hip instead. “He hit me hard. He’s fast too. How are we supposed to grab the necklace?”

And the roar of anger beneath them erupts into a strange, deep laughter. Ladybug and Chat lock eyes and she wonders if his stomach is as unsettled as hers. 

“Tell me where you are, Ladybug!”

And it’s the most over-the-top, ridiculous question she’s ever heard. Why would she reveal her position? She wants to laugh - opens her mouth to do so - but instead her tongue betrays her, bending out the words, “Right here!”

Horrified, she slaps her palms over her mouth in an effort to stifle the noise. Chat watches her incredulously because did she really just do that?

The beams of the bridge break free as the Akuma launches a fist straight through their position, sending both superheroes crashing to the road below. If at all possible, Ladybug feels even more sick than before. She couldn’t even control her own voice.

 

She’s so sick of this situation.

 

She unleashes her lucky charm, shooting her yo-yo into the air, only to have an oversized slingshot fall back down to her. After struggling for several minutes, during which Chat made a few questionable remarks toward their villain, dodging strikes and trying to throw in a few of his own, she pieces the puzzle together.

“Chat!” she calls, and like a devoted suitor, he slings himself over the Akuma straight for her.

When he reaches her, she holds out the slingshot. “I need you to shoot me,”

“Well, that seems a little over the top, don’t you think?”

“Chat!” she groans. “Come on!”

She climbs in the slingshot, struggling against the rubber band to pull herself as far back as possible. Despite her pain, when she finally lifts her feet from the pavement, she finds herself saying, “Finally, I’m flying like a real ladybug.”

And God, does she know it’s going to hurt when she hits that stone man, but if this is the only way to save her town…

The impact is indeed hard.

And it hurts like Hell.

But Ladybug connects with the stone chest, her hands closing around the sapphire necklace, and yanking it free from Sancus’s thick neck.

She’s never felt so exhausted after a fight before - never felt so helpless and angry and utterly finished with Hawkmoth and all his henchmen.

In a fit of fury, he throws the necklace to the ground, stomps on it, and falls to the ground, the world around her turning entirely too fast, too fast, too fast-

 

The world is black.

* * *

Panicky, she wakes up tucked away in an alley, Chat’s palms enclosed around her temples. Ignoring the pain below her waist, she bolts upright, hands splaying across her body to make sure her suit is still on and her identity still a secret.

“Lady!” Chat wheezes out. His arms are wrapped around her neck in an instant, and the Marinette buried behind the mask flushes at Chat’s affection. Even when she’s Ladybug, she still goes as red as a tomato when he’s around her. “Oh, god, I didn’t think you’d ever wake up!”

She blushes even more profusely, trying to stand. “Really, Chat, I’m alright. How… How long was I out?”

He watches her stand unsurely. Her knees buckle, and there he is immediately when she almost collapses to the ground below. She falls into another embrace and silently curses at herself for being so cliche.

“Not even ten minutes, but I-”

Her earrings ring out a beep, and she steadies herself on her feet again, reaching a hand up to her ears. “How many times has it done that?”

Chat shakes his head. “I-I don’t know. Maybe a couple times earlier?”

Everything is too rushed, they have no time to talk, to think, to do anything.

“Oh! Oh, Chat, I’m… I’m so sorry, but I have to go. Thank you, thank you so much!” Her panic levels are through the roof. How could she let herself get so close to revealing her identity?

 

She’s halfway across Paris before Chat can even muster a farewell.

* * *

“That was too close, Marinette!” Tikki squeaks when they return to the safety of her room.

“I know!” Marinette squeals back, collapsing onto her bed face first. “I know! I’m sorry!”

Tikki sighs from above the bed. “How are your hips? You took quite the beating.”

Marinette revolves, twisting onto her back, pulling up her shirt the slightest bit, showing off the flecks of tiny bruises already beginning to pepper her pantline. Purples and yellows and blues bloom like tiny flowers, and while it hurts an insane amount, she’s thankful they’re in some place she can easily hide them.

* * *

 

The following afternoon, she tries to think of a casual way to say, ‘Hey, Cat-boy, do you want to watch this neat movie Alya lent me or something?’ without sounding desperate or awkward. She hadn’t exactly asked him to be so domestic with her before, never proposed the idea of them hanging out as regular friends doing regular things instead of fighting crime or sneaking into music shops.

She stands in front of the bathroom mirror and says it to herself in various octaves and rearranges her question multiple times, but no matter how she phrases it, it sounds so, so bad.

Wait, had she really just considered saying _‘neat movie’_? Jesus, she wasn’t from the 1950s, what was she doing?

Maybe saying, _‘Would you, a teenage boy dressed completely in tight, black spandex, like to lounge with me on my bed and watch a movie?’_ would be less humiliating. She tries in vain to stifle the blush that skids across her cheeks when she contemplates what that lounging may lead to.

Cuddling Chat isn’t something she intends on doing tonight if she ever wants to stay sane around him.

“Marinette!” He sings down to her from the hatch in the ceiling, right on time. “Princess! Are you ready to go?”

_ Focus! _

Just ask him to hang out. Play a board game. Prank call your classmates. Gossip about celebrities. Anything to get him to stay and pretend you’re real friends, not just some unnamed, unimportant somebody for him to visit when he’s lonely.

Was this like cheating on Adrien?

Well, no, not technically. You have to be dating someone to cheat on them.

Okay, okay. It doesn’t mean you two are an item if you offer him some pastries and you chill for a little while. It means you want to be his friend, his real friend - someone he thinks of when he sees something funny and wants to show you because he knows you’d laugh; someone he can tell a childhood story to even though you’ve already heard it a thousand times before; maybe even someone he can trust with his identity...

_ Don’t get overzealous now. Just ask him. _

“Mari?” He asks, laughing. He climbs down the ladder, knocks his shoulder against hers, and gets dangerously close to her face.

_ A sk him.  Open your mouth, for God’s sake and say something! _

Start off with, “Yeah, about that whole piano tutoring thing-”

She doesn’t even realize she’s said it aloud until she sees something foreign flash through Chat’s eyes. Fear?

He makes a strangled noise, pulls away from her face, clamping a clawed hand over his own.

“You’re uncomfortable, aren’t you?” Chat groans. “Because of that kiss? I’m sorry, really, I am. I shouldn’t have done it; it didn’t mean anything, honestly. I-I was just being impulsive and-”

“Chat,” she mutters. “I was just going to ask if you wanted to skip tonight and… and play some Monopoly or watch some bad horror film instead, you know? I- I wanted to try to relax like someone would normally do with a friend, but…”

_‘...but I mean nothing to you apparently’_ is stuck behind her teeth. She knows how horribly passive aggressive it sounds and while Chat’s comment jabbed her heart a little too hard, she doesn’t want to be that sort of girl. 

But what had she been expecting? Was she really so naive as to think Chat Noir would just casually drink hot cocoa with her and laugh at bad acting and fake blood? Had she really thought someone as immature and selfish as Chat would trust her with his real name?

“No, wait, what?” He reaches for her hand. “I would love to! And it wouldn’t set behind our progress at all; you’re doing wonderfully!”

“Are you sure?” She looks at him and something blossoms in her abdomen.

She almost makes a joke to herself about Chat giving her puppy dog eyes, but decides against it, recognizing the irony in it. God, they are so green.

“Okay, okay, yeah,” Marinette tries to stamp out the excitement in her voice, but it’s nearly impossible. “What- What- What, um, what do you want to drink? Do you even want anything to drink? I mean, you can have anything you want if you’re thirsty. Well, you know, not anything because we obviously don’t have-”

“Marinette,” Chat laughs. Oh, no, no, _no,_ she wants to drown in that laughter. She wants it to smother her. “I’m alright. I’m not thirsty.”

She clears her throat. “Right. Okay. Well, are you wanting to- to, uh, pull up a chair? That would be best, hm?”

Cursing at herself, she takes a seat at her desk and revives her computer screen while Chat looks for a chair. When she notices her background, a miniscule amount of panic seizes her then, though she can’t explain why. Chat has probably seen Adrien’s face all over Paris, it’s not as if she’s the only one with a crush on him, but it still feels like a betrayal.

On both sides.

Oh, man, what is she getting involved in?

She quickly pulls up the window player for the movie she’d borrowed from Alya and slides the DVD into the computer. Chat says nothing as he drags a stool up to her side.  And she wishes she could say the movie had her attention the entire time, but she doesn’t enjoy lying to herself. Her fingers tick against her pant leg, eager to thread through Chat’s locks.

 

Why these strange urges to suddenly?

Why didn’t she want to stop herself?

And yet, why did she continually try to stop the thoughts?

 

She nearly groaned from frustration right then and there. Why was this so difficult? Why had their dynamic been compromised to suddenly all because she was having second thoughts about Chat?

“So why the sudden demand to hang out, Princess?” Chat asks, leaning toward her. “Falling for me yet?”

She knows if she tries to respond in any joking manner, she’ll just end up saying something along the lines of the affirmative. She resorts to just staying silent, until realizing that’s also a form of saying yes, so she retorts, “I just want to be your friend, Chat Noir. Is that so bad? And it wasn’t a demand!”

He laughs. “I did agree so maybe I’m the one falling for you.”

She seizes up in that moment, unsure if he’s joking or not.  They lock eyes just as a woman on the computer screen slips into a quicksand trap, screaming for help as a horde of crudely designed zombies make their way to her.

_That’s nothing,_ Marinette thinks. _Try getting caught up in Chat Noir. Way worse than quicksand._

 

She watches him swallow and wonders how warm his neck is.

 

“Marinette?” he croaks, and she knows, she just knows, he senses the tension too.

“Chat,” she responds.

“I… I know I didn’t ask the first time… And that was wrong of me.” he begins, “But if I were to ask this time…”

She decides to beat him at his own game. “Ask for what?”

He smiles, bringing a hand up to his eyes. “Are you teasing me?”

“That depends,” she reaches up and pulls his fingers from his face. The woman on the screen hasn’t stopped screaming. “Are you going to kiss me?”

 

And God, does he kiss her.

 

It’s the softest thing she’s ever felt: softer than clouds or cotton. His lips are gentle and tender against hers; scarcely there, as though he’s afraid of hurting her.  But when he pulls away from her, trying to laugh off his unease, she silently stands, grabs his hands, and leads him to her staircase.

And then she stops, a question: _do you want to?_

His eyes flicker back and forth between the bed and her eyes, an answer: _of course._

 

He collapses on top of her, pinning her to the mattress, and every inch of her body is pure adrenaline. She wants to close her mouth over the small of his back, his shoulder blades, the space just beneath his chin. Oh, God, she is aching for him. When did she get so desperate? When did she start craving something only Chat could satisfy?

“We’re missing that five-star movie of yours,” he laughs against her teeth.

She crinkles her nose in response, her smile tugging up her cheeks.It’s all she can do to not burst into a fit of laughter because she is so happy. He peppers a trail of kisses up her neck and hovers just above her left ear, as if waiting for something. The lack of lighting in the room combined with her hormones flying through the roof makes Marinette’s vision intensely blurry. All of the blood in her body rushes screaming to her head.

 

_ Kiss me. _

 

_ Kiss me. _

 

_ Kiss me. _

 

And all he does is tease her with pecks on her cheeks and collar bone. She wants his mouth on hers so fiercely, she could cry. He’s done enough tricking and pranking and mocking for nine lifetimes, and she is so utterly frustrated with him denying her what she really wants. There is only a second of fresh air before Marinette twists the fabric of his collar around her fist, and and mashes her lips against his in a frantic frenzy. 

The last time he’d made her feel this way in her room, she had heeded every warning sign imaginable. The tick beneath her skin had been strong, but she had been stronger. She remembers how empowering it felt to be able to say no to something… and how completely drained she felt not having said yes to something she wanted so badly.

She clamps her eyes shut, and opens her mouth, gliding her tongue between his teeth. This is the same boy she ran through the streets of Paris with every other day, the same boy whom had defended her on the bridge that morning. He lets out the softest, most helpless noise, making it vibrating against her lips.

 

She is done for.

 

Out of curiosity and a tinge of guilt, she tries to imagine sliding her palms across the back of Adrien instead of Chat, but her brain is cloudy and every time she tries to open her eyes, there’s a warm haze fogging up the room around her.

Can you pass out if you’re already laying down?

She gives up on trying to picture Adrien and says, “Chat” out loud so many times, she’s almost sure it’s the only word in her vocabulary. It is a plead. It is a hymn.

She suddenly realizes why Chat had willingly tutored her on the piano. She lifts her fingers and plays a C sharp on his spine, and he responds by pulling her closer, if at all possible.

“Mari- Marinette,” he breathes out. Is he sweating? “Marinette, you’re going to burn me alive, slow down.”

She lets out a small laugh, breathy and slightly embarrassed. He lets his face fall to her chest where she cradles his head. His arms wind around her back and she almost swears she can hear him nuzzle into her.

His breathing is jagged and sharp like seaglass. He’s been reduced to ashes and smoke and all flicker but no flame. His heart pounds against her ribcage and she thinks, ‘My God, did I really do this to you?’

And suddenly, his head pops up and his chin rests on her sternum. His eyes are heavy and half-lidded; they say to her, “you’re never going to be the same after this,”

“Alright, I’m recovered,” his whispers barely have time to exit his mouth before it’s over hers again and this time, he shows absolutely no mercy. 

He bites her bottom lip, drawing her mouth open. Marinette can’t help herself, and she giggles relentlessly as he smiles into her teeth, planting blossoming, warm touches all over her face. He kisses the grin that teeters on the edge of her mouth and suddenly things aren’t funny anymore, but so, so serious as he holds her face in his hands, drawing her up into a sitting position, which reminds her how fragile her pelvic area is from its collision with the steel yesterday.

She ignores the pain.

This must be what Lucifer felt like when God cast him away from Heaven.

She kisses him like she’s been doing it all her life, like she had always known how to kiss him in the back of her mind, like she’d grown up with the knowledge filed away in her head. It feels so unbelievably comfortable and right and-

“Marinette,” he breathes on the crook between her neck and shoulder. She turns her face toward him to ask what he wants, but his eyes are closed and he’s playing her like a guitar-

-like a piano.

 

The sight accompanied by the hurt in her hips overwhelms her and she swallows the knot in her throat. Was this real? How would Chat react if he knew he was being this ridiculously intimate with his crime-fighting partner?

 

What if she found out his reaction?

 

What if she told him?

 

Right now?

 

“I… I need to tell you something, Chat,” she says to the gloomy lighting. Drops of rain echo through the room as clouds condense above the city. Rain ensues, which begins to cool Marinette’s emotions.

Should she do this? Should she jeopardize something this enormous? Chat was always being spontaneous, perhaps she should too.

No, no, not with something this monumental. That was ridiculous!

His distraction is evident in his tone of voice when he says, “Hmm?”

No, no, nevermind. She can’t risk something happening to Tikki, or even herself. How selfish was she! How scatter-brained!

 

The weight of the secret burns far hotter whenever she's near Chat without being in her uniform. She knows she likes Chat - she knows it, no matter how fiercely she wants to deny it - and growing closer to him has only made her feel guilty.

Guilty of hiding from him.

Guilty of turning her back on Adrien.

_ Guilty. _

 

But she can't talk to him. How well would he listen anyway? Before, she’d only seen him as the mischievous black cat with too many puns up his sleeve, but more often than not, he seemed to show a slightly more sensitive, understanding side when they shared a rare bonding moment.

He wasn't horrible in battle either. Why, just that morning, he'd been consistently looking out for her, working with her, protecting her while giving her space to work herself.

What if she’d been wrong about Chat this whole time?

“Hey, Princess,” he smiles into her mouth again, and it's incredibly contagious. “Don't get shy on me.”

She nods once, pulling away from him to think. “I… Actually, I can't tell you. I have to show you, okay? I have to show you.”

He blinks, waiting for her to continue, but she tries to stay vague for a reason. The proposition offers mystery, something Chat is never able to pass up.

“It's not a body, is it?” He whispers, and she reaches behind her to grab a pillow to shove in his face. He falls back against her mattress and laughs, propping himself up on his elbows. “I meant a  _ dead _ body! I'm not that vulgar!”

Their laughter intertwines perfectly like grapevines and Marinette thinks,  _ ‘This is how we’re supposed to be. All this time, this is how it's always meant to go.’ _

His laughter feels like a home, and she can almost see herself moving in. It sounds ridiculous, even echoing through her head, but clichés are overused for a reason, right?

Sometimes, they're true.

 

“Come back tonight, alright? When it's dark.”

The anticipation is already killing her and he hasn't even left yet.

He leans forward and kisses her forehead. “You look so small, but you could rip out throats, you know that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you've got this wonderful façade of tenderness and clumsiness, and while that may be a part of you, it's not all you are. You're not just  _ Marinette-the-overly-excitable-girl _ .”

She scoffs. “First of all, how would you know how clumsy I am? This is the most time we've spent together in years! And second, you sound surprised.”

He strokes a few stray hairs from her face. “I know I shouldn't be, but it just strikes me sometimes how there's more to a person than they let on. It would be nice if they could show you everything all at once.”

She brushes her fingertips against his mask, watching his eyes. “Believe me, I know the feeling… but that's not how things are and that's definitely not how they're supposed to be.”

He takes the hint about his mask and shies away from her a bit. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Well, if anytime you met someone new, you instantly knew everything about them, you wouldn't really get the chance to experience knowing them.”

He waits.

“Okay, okay,” she sighs, and she can hear herself regretting the words even as they leave her lips. “This kid at my school, the boy I'm supposed to play the piano for? Imagine I meet him and instantly I know everything about him. I know his birthday and his favorite food and which tooth he first lost when he was little. Every detail. If I know all of those things, the excitement of growing and experiencing that person’s friendship is instantly… gone.”

He coughs, clearing his throat, looking at everything in the room except for Marinette. “So… So this kid. W-What's he like?”

She wants to gush about Adrien like she does with Alya, but she doesn't know how Chat would react. Had he asked her this two weeks ago, she probably would've rambled until her tongue was raw, but in an effort to spare whatever feelings the masked boy may have, she says, “He's so incredibly nice, Chat. You wouldn't believe it. It's hard to imagine someone that sweet. He just… he seems so brave a person, I don't know. He has to juggle school and all these extracurricular activities and also modeling and… I just don't know if I could do all that. He's always supported everything I do too. I made a hat once for his father and he's constantly telling me my drawings are good! It's nice to have someone believe in you when you're so ordinary.”

_ When you're plain old Marinette and not Ladybug. _

Chat watches her intensely. He seems a little shaken, which makes Marinette go rigid. Now she’d hurt his feelings- wonderful.

He's distracted when he stands and pushes the hatch above her bed open, climbing onto the balcony.

“I'll be back when it's dark,”

  
And he's gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this has taken me literally forever to post, I just had certain scenes and wasn't sure how to fluidly connect them. I may take the time later to rewrite things better because the alleyway scene seems unimportant and a little too rushed, but this is what I've got right now! 
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Thank you in advance! :-)

**Author's Note:**

> "I am a horrible individual," I whisper as I upload a work about a new fandom when I haven't even finished my first one from three years ago.
> 
> Please forgive me. Maybe I'll conclude it one day. I'd like to.
> 
> Anyhow, I just really enjoy the dynamic between Chat and Marinette. 10/10 A+


End file.
